Ali Ramsaier

The number 3 is significant to our family. Even after my dad, Eddie, passed seeing “333” in places was an angel wink. Today marks 3 years since I closed your eyes. There was a coldness in the room and feelings of youth running around us all trying to have one more sleepover with you. I sat by you, closed your eyes and told you that I was going to clean you up. I took a few steps and heard your breath until there wasn’t one. There was a chill on my neck and a drop in the room— as if you were letting me know you were gone and thanking me. I grabbed what I needed and cleaned you one final time and woke up the girls to tell them that you’re gone. We stayed there for a while. Everything was quiet. You fought so hard for so many things. You wanted to be there with us. You wanted to make memories and travel with Terry. We all had no idea how much pain you were in and even through that you still fought. Mom, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. I miss our several calls a day. I miss your hugs (even if I wasn’t as affectionate.) I miss your encouragement and big laugh. I miss it all. I wish I had more time with you as do so many others, but we are so grateful you are not in pain. I write you a letter everyday, but today, this one will be shared. I hope wherever you are, you’re surrounded by love and watching over all of us. Til we meet again.